


Road to Hell

by vogue91



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Death Eaters, Gen, Introspection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-29
Updated: 2017-12-29
Packaged: 2019-02-23 12:18:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13189932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vogue91/pseuds/vogue91
Summary: “Barty... we’re ready to tear out each other’s throats like dogs, and he knows it. Just like he knows we’re just slaves he can play with however he pleases. No one of us should really think the road we’ve taken will actually lead somewhere.





	Road to Hell

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even know if the two of them have ever said a word to each other, but my prompt was simply to write something with them and so I did. Bear with me.

It was cold that night; incredibly cold.

Everybody was holed up in their houses, relishing the heat of their fireplaces, or warming themselves into the embraces of loved ones.

Everybody, except for two miserable looking men, who roamed listlessly London’s streets.

“How long do we have to stay? I’d like to go home, I’m about to freeze to death!” one of them complained, brushing his hands and trying to get some warmth from the friction.

“I’ve got no idea, Barty. Lucius said to stay for the time necessary.” the other one replied, pensive. The boy half-closed his eyes, getting red.

“Lucius? Regulus, since when do we follow Lucius’ orders?” he hissed, and the other one laughed.

“Since when we’re both too little important to receive higher orders.” he ironized, patting him on his shoulder. Barty sighed, shaking his head.

“One day he’ll notice us, you’ll see. When he’ll realize what sort of scum he’s surrounded by, like hyenas with a carcass... he’ll see who’s loyal out of belief and who out of fear.” he told him, with the certainty that usually marked him whenever he spoke of the Dark Lord.

The other one didn’t worry about answering.

He had had to deal too many times with Barty’s fixations; he had escaped from the dreams of glory of a father unaware of having a wolf in the herd, and shaped his abilities from nothing, abilities which no one in his right mind would’ve been proud of.

Regulus sighed. Right mind wasn’t a good definition of Barty anymore. As iit wasn’t for Bellatrix, or Lucius, or anyone of them. As it, he knew, wasn’t going to be for him either.

He would’ve wanted to do something to get out of that vicious cycle of expectations and death which was by now permeating his days, and yet he felt he missed... _something_ to drag him away from that destiny.

But there was no secondary trail, no parallel road, and he knew it all too well. His path had been traced the moment he was born, and it had been named at Voldemort’s rise.

He was so tired of all this. Tired of all that death and devastation, tired of favouring those nights he spent at the mercy of cold, because there was nothing he dreaded more than sleeping into the snake’s den.

Escaping was a mere utopia, and something which would’ve had no prize for him. He would’ve given anything to get rid of those chains anchoring him to an existence where nothing was a given and all was licit.

“You never think he can be wrong, do you?” he asked Barty all of a sudden, and the other one froze, glaring at him.

“Please, Reg, don’t tell me you’re talking about the Dark Lord.” he replied, raising an eyebrow out of disdain. Regulus turned up his nose. He didn’t particularly liked being called ‘Reg’, not from the likes of Barty anyway. And it had nothing to do with how he had felt as of late. For him, it only meant pretending a camaraderie that wasn’t there.

He had, as a matter of fact, realized that every Death Eater thought himself better than the others, no matter what his line of thought was.

There was who believed to be the Dark Lord’s favourite, who thought it was a rightful cause and followed him out of loyalty, like an Apostle of a Christ revived and evil to the bone. Exactly like Bellatrix and Barty.

And then there were those who served out of the fear Voldemort was able to create, convinced that it wasn’t going to last forever, that they could’ve left whenever they wanted without any kind of retaliation.

Regulus smiled, unexpectedly. The more he thought about it, the more he saw all of them, himself included, as Lord Voldemort’s whores, ready to do anything for the ephemeral promise of a better life, destined to never come true.

He recovered from the weirdness of the metaphor, and answered to him.

“Of course I’m talking about him, Barty. There’s no need for you to look at me like that.” he said, cold. He was only two years older, but he always wanted to mark the difference. He felt a weird sense of protection toward the kid, in whom he saw himself at his age.

Young, silly, willing to board ventures bigger than his thin shoulders could bear.

But the fact that he felt empathy, didn’t make Barty Crouch Jr. better than he was. Nor it made himself better.

“You’re weird, lately. When I first met you, you were the Dark Lord’s most loyal servant. I was sure that... well, that you would’ve done anything to please him. What happened to you, Regulus?” he asked, quiet. He was suddenly serious, as if he was aware that he wasn’t going to like his friend’s answers.

Regulus allowed himself a brief smile before speaking again.

“When you first met him, Barty, I was a different person than the one I am today. I was just a kid, and there were too many things I didn’t know about.” he started, but he was interrupted right away.

“You’re hardly a man now.” the Death Eater replied, polemic. Black smirked, then went on.

“I’m not a man, but I’m not a kid anymore. Not after all I saw, not after all I _did_.” he sighed. “When I was a kid, my brother used to tell me that there’s no place for childhood in this world. Especially for those who come from a family like mine.” he turned to face Barty, his face incredibly sad. “I have to admit it now, he’s right. I’ve never cared much for his words, I only followed what my parents thought of him. And yet _Sirius Black,_ traitor to his blood, Mugglephile... has always been bloody right.” he paused, and a heavy silence fell on them, which Barty didn’t dare to fill. “There’s no room for childhood in this world. And there no room for youth among the Death Eaters.” he sentenced.

In that moment they both felt the cold becoming sharper, like a sordid background for the words just spoken.

Another omen of certain death, at the threshold of a war they weren’t going to win.

“We have a chance to gain power over the Wizarding World, Regulus. We’ve been chosen to follow a goal. And we will, like we always have. There’s no mortal weapon that can defeat us.” Barty said all of a sudden, and the other one shivered. The words in the Death Eater’s mouth didn’t belong to him, as that decisive tone didn’t. Everything in him oozed the illusory certainties of Voldemort, as if Barty’s own skin was a tribute to his honour.

And it scared Regulus more than anything. The certainty of being a God, which brought only to the defeat of the entire existence, when they were going to realize they were just men.

“There was no mortal weapon that can defeat us, Barty?” he repeated, ironic. “You don’t understand what happens around us, you’ve become deaf and blind to the truth.” he took his hand, violently, and forced him to take it to his own forehead. “Touch. How many other boys your age have wrinkles? They’re the signs of the upcoming defeat, Barty. And it doesn’t matter whether we win or lose the war, because we’ll lose anyway, you and I. Voldemort created us, but he despises us like he does anything else. Once gained the power, we’ll only be accessories for him, useless weights that he won’t hesitate to get rid of!” he yelled. He regained his breath, choking as if that knowledge was stealing his air. “Don’t you dare speaking about mortal weapons from that high horse, because we’re barbarically rolling into the mud. We’re mortals, just like Dumbledore, like the Potters, like my brother. And us mortals are but shadow and dust. Shadow and dust, Barty! We live inside a shell of meat that we think eternal, while we’re starting to crumbling down inside, to become ashes to give to the wind. Not you nor I are better than anyone else walking this Earth. We’re just two silly boys choosing to be on the winning side.” he ended this sort of demonic closing statement with a feeble tone, before leaning against the wall, tired.

The other one stared at him, unable or unwilling to speak. He stared at him like he was a monster, a freak of nature. It was quite a while before he decided to answer.

“Do you actually think all you’ve said? After all we’ve been through, after all that trust the Dark Lord has bestowed upon us... do you actually believe we’re going to be crushed like worms?” he murmured. Regulus sighed once again.

He knew that, no matter what he said, Barty would’ve stayed stuck in his ways. He still hadn’t experimented the slight torture of guilt, and what it felt like when it seemed like breath was fading, when you were choked by fear and regret.

And, in a rush of sudden mercy, he hoped he never had to.

“Barty... we’re ready to tear out each other’s throats like dogs, and he knows it. Just like he knows we’re just slaves he can play with however he pleases. No one of us should really think the road we’ve taken will actually lead somewhere. We’re at a dead end and we knew it when we decided to be marked, like we were nothing but cattle, meat; because that’s what we are: animals, sacrificial victims unaware of their destiny. And when Voldemort is going to find an altar to sacrifice us on, and be sure he will, he won’t hesitate. Us Death Eaters are nothing but Hell’s citizens, a population going toward eternal damnation, in life as in death. And a population should at least understand when it’s defeated.” he tried to explain once more, knowing that those words didn’t actually reach the boy’s ears. But they reached his own, and he grew certainties still more rooted while he spoke. It wasn’t a dialogue nor a monologue. What Regulus was carrying on was a useless and sad soliloquy, with the only intent of making the truth even clearer than it already was. Barty smirked, a bitter smirk, almost disappointed.

“Should it understand, Regulus? And would you understand it? Would I? I don’t think I’ve seen you throw in the towel. You keep going around, at night, in the cold with me, and you say you’re certain of our defeat... then run away! Go away, where he can’t find you. Otherwise, don’t you dare telling me that we’re destined to fail, if you’re not brave enough yourself to actually believe it.” he hissed, then he went away, fast.

Regulus didn’t follow him. He kept still, under the drops of rain that were slowly starting to fall. He thought about what Barty had just told him.

Yes, he would’ve understood it. He _had_ understood it.

But from understanding to accepting... Barty wasn’t wholly wrong. What he actually missed was the courage to make a decision which, for once, was born only from his will.

A will he had given up a long time ago, and that was never going to belong to him again.

It was too late to walk away from the edge of the abyss. He understood and preached, but he knew he was a step from falling, endlessly, in a void from which he wasn’t going to rise again.

He didn’t demand to bring anyone with him. He would’ve liked for everyone who swore their loyalty to a lost cause to follow him, but he wasn’t even considering it for real.

No. He had started this alone, and alone would’ve finished it.

He would’ve been the worst of examples that Voldemort would’ve kept mentioning for years, and he cared particularly about that. He had always followed what were called good examples, and his end had been unseemly.

He didn’t hope in redemption anymore. Just in a little bit of awaited, desired peace.

Before landing into pure and simple Hell. 


End file.
